Elizabeth’s deathly face flinched in anguish, and for an instant her eyes closed. Then she drew his head to her shoulder, held his bowed neck between her hands, while his arms went round her. They held each other closely in the terrible realization of their grief.
Ashley, her own face streaming with tears, gave one look at the locked, oblivious figures, and went out by the other door, and closed it behind her. There was bewilderment stamped upon her wet, broad face. She had been appalled by Seymour’s impetuous coming; but this was no hot-foot, obstreperous lover—this broken giant clutching Bess as though he would drop to the floor but for her slim figure supporting him…
“We loved her, Bess, we two,” Thomas got out at last.
“Tom, don’t! Don't—” Elizabeth called on a wild burst of tears.
“Weep for me too, for now I am alone.”
She lifted her head.
“Not while I live, you are not,” she said vehemently. “But I am—if you should leave me. …”
No thought, no remembrance, remained with her now of
Cecil’s urgent, veiled words, whose meaning had pricked her at the time: . . Nor any other visitor, howsomuch you
would desire it … I say, nor any other. . .
“Did she . . Elizabeth spoke tremulously and with hesitation, “speak of me?”
“Many times.”
“When she—died, Tom, did she speak of me then?”
Seymour hesitated.
“She was wandering in her mind. She scarce knew me.”
Elizabeth turned away.
“No word. Nothing to make it right between us.”
“She blamed you not,” he assured her eagerly.
“She saw I loved you.”
“It was but part of what we had together, all three, we three together,” Seymour maintained.
Elizabeth shook her head slowly.
“Tom, was I wrong to love you?”
He looked at her for a long moment of unbroken silence, and there was a wealth of tenderness in his eyes. At last he spoke, not with his usual resonant rush of words but very gently and deliberately: “Bess, Kate’s gone. But I do know this; that she would have me take care of you. She said you were alone, and there were those who would delight to see your rightful titles taken from you. But they shall not. Not while I live. I’ll watch for you at Court… I’ll see your lands protected as mine own. My brother named himself Protector of the King. Well—keep this in your heart—I am yours, and you I will protect.
“I must to London, where I will do battle against those who scheme against us both.”
“Take heed!’ Elizabeth said earnestly. “Tom, take heed!” He laughed.
“I’ll take a sword in hand better than take heed! ”
“But for Kate’s sake, take heed,” she urged.
“I will do better than that. I will sue to the King. The boy loves me well!”
His braggadocio key had a steadier note now. He flung his long riding cloak across one shoulder, and filled his lungs with a deep breath. But a moment ago Thomas Seymour had known the simplest and sincerest feelings of his lifetime. His heart was full of sorrowing tenderness; he did truly believe that Bess was, in a sort, a legacy from his Kate, to be guarded, loved and battled for. Her rights and her lands (he had already meditated suggesting that she should sell certain properties and buy land which marched with his own in Gloucestershire) were so much identified in his mind and aim with his own that they were inseparable.
Tom Seymour had wed the widow of a King; and he intended to wed a girl who should one day be a reigning Queen. But whatever his enemies might choose to say, he had loved Queen Katherine Parr when she was no more than the young widow of old Lord Latimer. And he would have loved Elizabeth if she were never to be so much as within sight of the throne…
“Your brother is more than King,” she reminded him. “And he hates you.”
“But he is not King,” Thomas retorted. “He that is King
is but a boy kept prisoner by my brother. And he is sick — they know not how to care for him—'”
“Oh God! ” Elizabeth said on a sob. (How often Kate said that, and grieved that he was no more in her care… Even when they crowned him, it was she who had mildly given hint that the coronation ceremonies should be shortened to suit his tender years; and even then, he was sick, poor little Ned — all over his royal vestments!)
“Well, there’s yet another cause for me to serve! See you not, Bess? This white-faced lad that is our King … Kate loved and pampered him. I cannot pamper … but I can blow clear air into those dismal palace rooms. And by the living God, I will.”
“Tom-Tom! Keep a guard on your tongue!”
“Dear heart, I do not speak with breath alone. I’ve deeds to match the breath!”
“Aye! so I fear!” she said. “And so I know Kate feared. ’Tis why she kept you far from Court, pleading her own health. … It was your health — and life—she would save, Tom.”
Before she could say anything more, Ashley bustled into the room.
“My lord—” she said breathlessly.
“What’s this?” Thomas inquired angrily. “Did I not tell you—”
Ashley interrupted him.
“My lord! Take the back stairs—”
“What are you saying, woman? Fetch your breath and speak plain.”
“William Cecil is here,” Ashley finished.
“Cecil!” Elizabeth repeated. “Oh God! I had forgot. He was to come today to take Parry’s accounts—”
“I take no back stairs from any house in England,” Seymour raged. “I’ll visit my Bess when I choose. And at such a time as this, I’ve good reason to be here.”
“Oh God!” Ashley wailed, pressing a hand to her mouth.
“Think you I fear an inky-fingered puppy?” Seymour demanded.
He jerked the door wide and shouted, “Cecil! William Cecil, are you there?”
“Oh, God in heaven! ” Ashley repeated. And Elizabeth said sharply, “Thomas, take care!”
But Seymour was calling recklessly, “Cecil, ho! Cecil!”
Sir William Cecil came into the room so noiselessly that Seymour himself started.
“My lord Seymour,” he said quietly.
“Come you from London?” Thomas demanded.
“Aye, my lord.”
“Has news of the Queen, reached my brother?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Seymour turned on his heel.
“How warm it must lie in his ear,” he said bitterly, “when his bitch bears him a son, and lives, and my dear Queen gives me a daughter — and dies…
Cecil’s even tone did not alter. But the feeling was there, implicit
“I know not what he thinks, my lord. I do but know the news lies cold in my own heart.”
Seymour looked at him, but could not speak. He reached out a long arm, grasped the other man’s shoulder, as though, for a second, he leaned on him. Then walked past him to the door without a backward look.
Ashley moved across the floor and shut it. She went to Elizabeth’s mute, rigid figure and took the girl in her arms. Over her head she faced Cecil.
“Cecil, have you not business with Parry? He is below.” “By your leave, Dame,” Cecil said imperturbably, “I have business with the Lady Elizabeth.”
“Can you not leave it for another time? ”
“Would that I could! But the Queen being now dead, I dare not keep silent longer. I spoke with her the night King Henry died. We knew each other’s fears… But even she could not then guess what shape those fears would take.” Elizabeth stirred, put Ashley aside. In her ashen face her eyes were unwavering.
“You loved Queen Katherine?”
“Of all the men and women I have known, her wisdom measured all,” Cecil answered.
“She had much trust in you,” Elizabeth said musingly. “Her trust taught me to trust you, Cecil.”
“I would it were not this news that brings me here, Your Grace.”